


[Read More]

by Gingerquery (PeppermintTegan)



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Activism, Blogging as an art form, F/M, Idiots in Love, Miscommunication, Ned Leeds is a Little Shit, Nerds in Love, virtual friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25134367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppermintTegan/pseuds/Gingerquery
Summary: Peter has seen his alter ego mentioned in plenty of publications, big and small, physical and digital. He tries to keep up with them despite the futility of the task. In the mix of good, bad, and ugly, there's always a few gems. Some pieces stroke his ego like the Times article about him catching a runaway bus. Some are harsh critiques from people who seem to have a personal vendetta against Spider-Man.And then there's articles like this one. Concise. Cutting. Well sourced. A small blog in the most ignorable corner of the internet pierces right to his heart.He can't stop himself from replying.
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker
Comments: 43
Kudos: 158





	[Read More]

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. This was supposed to be a small writing exercise to get me back into the groove. Instead I churned out nearly 17k words over the course of a week. NaNoWriMo pace say what? 
> 
> This story was inspired by "Words" by AMZY and by the pun "according to you". Also by my own personal experience in making long distance friends through the medium of digital prose. 
> 
> One of those friends beta'd this story. Thanks Roan <3
> 
> Please enjoy ^_^

Net-negative – How Spider-man Has Made Queens Less Safe

Posted by CapitalizeTheB  
Sunday, 17 September 2017

> Spider-Man, Queens’ own superhero, is a common and often welcome sight. Twitter sings his praises, fan-blogs follow his movements, and murals dot underpasses and alleys in adoration of the masked man's many accomplishments. There’s no denying the good things he’s done – I’m willing to bet he’s saved no less than four cats from trees just this week – but I can also no longer deny that Spider-Man’s effect on this community is not entirely a wholesome one.
> 
> Before I begin dragging Spider-Man, I must impress upon you the context of my complaints. In a better world, minimum mandatory sentencing would not exist, nor would disproportionate bail, qualified immunity, or stop and frisk. Yet they do. I imagine, in that better world, Spider-Man would still exist, catching busses and chasing balloons but the fact remains that he exists here, in this world, in this country, where a system of widespread, centuries old injustice serves to subjugate and punish minorities for the crime of existing.
> 
> Worst of all, Spider-Man is complicit.
> 
> For every kid he helps find their parent, he strings up a purse-snatcher for the police to find. For every old woman he gives directions, an addict is left webbed to a wall, in relapse, destined for a cold and uncaring jail cell. Spider-Man lacks exactly what the police do – compassion and nuance. If he continues to behave this way, he’ll either end up wearing the uniform or find himself in the same cold cell he damns so many others to. He seems to have forgotten that, for all the salutes and nice words cops send his way, he’s a criminal too. It will only be so long before the police change the one thing that protects him – their opinion.
> 
> Let’s move on to statistics for a moment. Just before Spider-Man made his first appearance, 911 calls were….

––––––––––– [Click here to read more] –––––––––––

––––>><<––––

Peter’s hand grips the mouse hard enough that it begins to creak. He looks down at it, drawn from his mind by the noise, and relaxes his grip on the cheap plastic. He leans back in his desk chair, eyes still on the screen with his eyebrows creased in a myriad of emotions. 

Over a year ago, Peter set up a news crawler to gather stories about Spider-Man and collate them into a daily email. It seemed like a good idea at the time and gave him a glimpse into how he was perceived by the wider public, for good or ill, rather than just checking his tag on twitter and tumblr. He’s been mentioned plenty in major publications and even more in small ones like the blog he has up on his screen. A lot of it’s good, some of it’s bad, and occasionally there’s a piece that really sticks with him. A few months back someone caught him on video stopping a runaway bus with his own hands before it could collide with a train and Time did a piece on it. Peter can consider his ego well stroked.

So when pieces like this come up, well written, concise, and by someone who clearly lives in Queens, he makes sure to read them. The borough is home to over 2.2 million people so it’s a roughly monthly occurrence. 

Peter leans forward again, his cursor hovering over the expando button. It’s always difficult to read these kinds of critiques. This one, he can tell, is going to be harder than most because the writer seems to be doing something that few other writers do and remembering the human beneath the mask. He knows that will only make the critique that much more cutting.

He sighs. His mouse moves instead to the top of the screen and opens the blog’s main page in a new tab. He scrolls to the about section and mutters aloud to himself as he reads. The entire blog appears to be run by just one author, CapitalizeTheB, who offers no additional information about themself. On the right side, a few of the blog’s articles are listed oldest to newest. 

  * According to You: Sokovia Accords for the Layman
  * What Corporate America Gets Wrong About Black Culture
  * Why White Women Should Never Wear Headscarves
  * Net-negative – How Spider-man Has Made Queens Less Safe



Peter isn’t surprised to see a post about the Accords from someone who’s written a scathing article about Spider-Man but the other two pique his interest too. He opens all three in new tabs then closes his current tab which leaves him staring at the same [read more] button he’d run from minutes earlier. He steels himself, shoulders tight, and clicks. 

––––>><<––––

"They had stats from the NYPD, Ned! I can't argue with stats!" Peter whispers furiously at his friend while the two ignore the dismal school lunches on the table between them. "All their articles are like this, even the one about headwraps."

Ned doesn't say anything at first, just pushing the 'chicken tender' around his tray and trying not to imagine the pack lunch he forgot at home. He can tell Peter is waiting for a response so he says, "What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing, they have a point. Headwraps are too tied up in centuries of cultural eradication for–"

"No, dude, about the Spider-Man article." 

"Oh. Uh, I don't know. It doesn't feel right to let their assumptions go unchallenged but I can just swing in like 'Hey I'm Spidey and your opinion of me is hurtful.'" He tilts his head back and forth in a mocking manner as he imitates his hypothetical self.

"Are you even Gen Z?" Ned asks with a disgusted expression. "Dude, the internet has the perfect tool for you _built in._ Anonymity." As the last word escapes his lips, he puts on a very zen face and holds his hands out to the sides like a yogi high on something illicit. 

"So I should argue… with an assumed identity?" Peter explores, leaning his head to the side curiously. The turning gears are nearly audible as he builds a ramshackle plan.

Ned nods sagely. "A mask, if you will." He stabs the questionable chicken strip with his fork. "It's not like you know the author. They're hiding behind the veil of anonymity, too." Ned takes a bite of the chicken and grimaces, letting the unchewed piece tumble back onto his tray from his mouth.

"Wanna dash to the corner store before next period?" Peter offers.

"Yes, _please_."

––––>><<––––

Later that same day, Peter is sitting on the couch in the living room of his apartment, letting the sounds of May cooking behind him drown out the distractions in his mind as he works through his physics homework. That is his intent, at least. 

He tries, he really does. Physics is one of his favorite subjects and since he’s a junior now, his physics teacher is letting him do a research project on metamaterials instead of the usual laser refraction experiment juniors start with. He should be elbow deep in diagrams and esoteric jargon by now.

He glances over at his laptop and its 38 open tabs. Scanning the row, his eyes linger on the two left-most tabs, a familiar symbol sitting at the beginning of a line of truncated text, “Net-negat…” and “Sign up!” Looking back at his calculation sheet covered in nothing but tiny dots from his pen tapping it idly, he decides that yeah, maybe he could use a break.

Peter lifts the laptop carefully over the mess of papers and textbooks to rest it gently on his knees. Before he can convince himself otherwise, he selects the tab with the sign-up page and creates an account on the blogging website. He could slow down, deliberate over a username choice, but momentum is his friend here. He elects to use an old joke between him and Ned from when the two of them would dress up as Avengers and run around the park down the street rescuing basketballs and educating dogs on handshake etiquette. The website is snappy and within moments, he’s directed to a page where he can make his own blog, empty ‘title’ and ‘banner’ boxes blinking hungrily at him. Instead, he closes the tab and reloads the one his browser switches to.

With the page refreshed, Peter can see his chosen username, RedWhiteAndJew, in the top right. A zero sits beside it, indicating something score related that he can’t bring himself to care about at the moment. He scrolls down past the article, ignoring the expando and multiple rows of ads to reach the comment section. Just like yesterday, there are no comments. This blog, despite the article content and quality writing, doesn’t seem to have attracted any comments at all other than Viagra spambots that get deleted after an hour or two. Peter is prepared to be the first real commenter, a kind of digital intimacy that would probably scare him if he thought too long about it.

His fingers fly across the keyboard, filling in one paragraph then two, setting up context with an introduction and following it with an analysis of the article itself. Tone is accounted for though he doesn’t stop to correct typos, not yet. He’s been thinking about this reply for nearly 24 hours so after niceties are out of the way, he moves right into his own argument, debating and refuting some of the author's points. In particular, he mentions that while police responses have increased, violent encounters with police and police weapon discharges have gone down. Peter attributes this to Spider-Man’s willingness to put himself in the thick of things and to not back down from someone with a weapon, expanding it into Spider-Man’s apparent commitment to non-violent takedowns.

While typos get left for the review pass, every few sentences Peter rereads to make sure that he isn’t drifting too close to a personal defense. He’s trying his hardest to argue like a well-informed citizen. Someone who is concerned but not attached to Spider-Man personally. It’s hard, especially when the fuel to his fire was initially a kind of indignation at being called out so harshly by a complete stranger. He hasn’t let himself wonder why this is so different from the Daily Bugle’s articles, why he felt this one so much more deeply. 

He wraps up the comment by thanking the writer for their post and for arguing from fact rather than nebulously referring to the masked hero as a menace and nothing more. He feels like they’ll understand the reference and appreciate it.

He takes a moment to bask in the glow of finishing _one_ of the things he planned to do tonight when May calls out that dinner is ready. Peter closes the tab and the laptop, rising with a symphony of popping vertebrae. He feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest but some of the things the author said, in fact most of the things they said, had very real merit. Perhaps he shouldn’t have argued for leaving drug addicts to the police and yeah, webbing people upside down really is a bad idea. He resolves to discuss those topics more if the author replies to his comment.

_If_.

––––>><<––––

At lunch the next day, Peter pulls up the comment he’d made on his phone and lets Ned read it in between bites of his tapa and fried rice. The other boy is quiet for a long time, occasionally nodding his head or humming to indicate how he feels about the words on the screen.

“I dig it. You made your point without being too aggressive. I was worried you’d go all defensive and blow your cover.” He shovels more rice into his mouth.

“I wouldn’t– I wasn’t gonna–“ Peter stops trying to defend himself when Ned raises disbelieving eyebrows in his direction. “Well I _didn’t_ ,” he concludes.

Ned shrugs and nods in consolation. “So what now?” he asks.

“I’m gonna wait for a reply and if I don’t get one then that’s it. There were no other organic comments on the entire blog, Ned. They might not even monitor the comments. I don’t know how websites like this work.”

Ned finishes his lemon water with an appreciative sound. “You could ask MJ. I bet she knows how to blog.” The two boys glance over at the girl sitting about fifteen feet away, typing rapidly on her netbook with her phone and a book open beside her. They both stare for a moment, taking in her hunched posture and creased brow. 

“Maybe not,” Ned amends.

“Another time,” Peter agrees.

The duo rise to dump their plates and MJ startles, sitting up at the same time that she shuts the laptop lid. Peter freezes too and their eyes catch each other.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to–” he starts but his friend interrupts him.

“Working on something secret?” Ned wheedles with an eyebrow waggle.

“Christmas shopping,” she answers plainly, pulling her gaze from Peter to glare. 

“In September?” Peter asks, not quite buying it.

“We don’t all wait until the week before Christmas to buy gifts, dweeb.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in capitalism,” Ned retorts with a tone more like a statement than a question.

“Capitalism exists, my beliefs don’t change that, I just happen to think that it’s incredibly wasteful and destru– is there a reason you’re pestering me?” she cuts over herself with a shake of the head.

Ned looks at Peter and the boys shrug.

“See you in Spanish,” Peter offers as they continue on toward the tray return and leave the cafeteria.

They reach their lockers with time to spare so Peter fills the silence with another pointless conversation.

“Why do you always annoy MJ?” he asks, facing the wall of metal.

“Why do you always defend her?” Ned replies, evading the question.

“She’s the only person you bicker with like that.”

“She’s the only person you defend like that.”

“You know that’s a lie and you defeated your own argument by saying so.” Peter fixes his friend with an exasperated look, lips pursed. His phone chimes once as he lowers his book bag to the ground.

“Ooh, ooh, what is it? Hero stuff?” Ned begins hopping lightly on the spot.

“Ned, shut _up_. Don’t say that while we’re in school! And no, they call me for that stuff.” Peter digs his phone from his pocket. “It’s just an email, from…” He trails off, looking up at his friend with a conflicted expression. “They replied.”

Ned, in lieu of any verbal response, just grins with a hint of something devious in the corners of his eyes.

––––>><<––––

“Señor Parker, guarde su teléfono, por favor.”

“Ah, lo siento, Señora.”

Peter hurriedly shoves his phone into his bag, trying to ignore the snickering from his classmates. It was no secret that he often got distracted during class, any class, not just this one, but he typically didn’t get caught by the teacher. 

He’s a little more distracted than usual this time because, rather than watching Spider-Man videos or looking up chemical formulas, he was rereading the author’s reply to his comment for the fourth time. It isn’t anything special, just an acknowledgement of his own and a thanks for taking the time to comment, but it represents something a little scary for Peter. He’d reached out to someone who by all accounts seemed to be adversarial towards Spider-Man and they’d _thanked_ him for his attempt at refutation. Best of all, they’d asked him if he felt comfortable commenting on their other posts as well since the site had been set up for a school assignment and engagement is part of the rubric. He hasn’t agreed yet but he plans to; he’s already read the other three articles on the blog so it will be easy to craft replies.

“¿Un centavo por tus pensamientos?”

Peter looks at MJ out of the corner of his eye, noting the slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She remains looking straight forward despite asking him the question aloud.

He smiles back. “De nada.”

––––

A/N: translations in order  
“Mister Parker, please put away your phone.”   
“Ah, sorry, Ma’am.”   
“Penny for your thoughts?” (This idiom doesn’t exist in Spanish but I think MJ knows that.)   
“It’s nothing.”

––––

––––>><<––––

The fire alarm goes off.

Peter sits up abruptly from where he’d fallen asleep at his desk, laptop glow the only source of light in his room. He hurries out of his chair with a deft midair tumble and leaps into the kitchen where Aunt May is waving a towel frantically at the stove where a wok full of rice and thinly sliced beef has caught fire.

“Cooking sherry is flammable!” she yells at him with fear in her eyes.

“Uh, good to know!” Peter wastes no time snatching the wok off the stove and placing it in the sink where he set the pan’s lid down on top. In seconds, the fire is out and he leaps to the ceiling to deactivate the fire alarm. May returns from opening every window in the kitchen and living room. She leans against the wall and just sighs, shaking her head remorsefully at the soot marks up the wall around the stove hood.

“Note to self, there _is_ such a thing as having the pan too hot when adding alcoholic ingredients.”

“May, didn’t you learn that with your rum cake last Christmas?”

“You’d’ve thought, Peter.” She sighs again. “I noticed you didn’t go patrolling tonight. Changed your mind on our schedule?” She looks up to where he’s still clinging to the ceiling, resetting the alarm.

“No– I mean yeah– for tonight only. I just had a project to work on.”

“Oh, for school? What about?” She moves toward the sink, holding the towel over her nose. “Is it that one that you’re trying to convince Tony to let you borrow some adamantium for?”

“It’s… not for school.”

“A Spider-Man project then? Improving your web-shooters?” She forms the hand sign Spider-Man uses to throw webs and makes a small “pew pew” noise.

“Nope.” He snaps the fire alarm back into its cradle.

May begins bobbing her head. “I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to get me to offer take-out in exchange for you telling me what it is.” 

Peter laughs as he drops back to the ground. “I mean, are we really gonna still eat that?” He glances to where May is running the tap into the charred pan. “‘Cause if so then yeah, I’m bribing.”

May doesn’t delay, pushing off the counter with her hip and walking off to get her shoes. “Consider me bought!”

It takes them about 20 minutes to decide on a place, travel, and be seated in a quiet little pho restaurant not far from home. They chat about random little things on the way – May asks him for some curses in Spanish and she shares some he totally already knew in Italian. She gracefully manages not to ask about the project again until the server has taken their drink orders and left them menus.

“So tell me what’s up,” she opens, hands flat on the table.

“I’m thinking about the sautéd pork. I haven’t had that one before.”

“The _project_ , Peter, you’re holding me in suspense here!”

“May, it’s not that big of a deal. I just… I found this cool blog while searching for articles about Spider-Man and they said some stuff I disagreed with so I wrote up a big comment arguing with them – politely – and they replied to thank me for my well thought out comment so now I’m going through the blog to write long comments on their other posts because they asked me too and it’s kind of nice since this is a different kind of writing from the kind I have to do in school and you know that I don’t even like writing normally but–”

“Petey, breathe,” she cuts in with a hand on his. He gasps harshly, refilling nearly empty lungs. “If I’m hearing this right, you’re _choosing_ to write long winded responses to these articles?”

He nods.

“Do you know the author or something? Oh thank you.” She takes her drink from the waiter and tells him her order. Peter does the same.

“No,” he replies after the waiter has left again, “I feel like they’re kind of familiar but I think that’s just because they’re a high schooler in Queens.”

“Ooh, they live in Queens.” May gives him a particular expression, head tilted down and eyes open wide – her ‘my, what a coincidence’ face.

“I mean, I assume so. They mention a hair salon in Forest Hills and they called out Spider-Man’s effect on _Queens_ in particular. Not the city in general.”

“Curious,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. “I like the idea of you making more friends.” 

“I’m not– May, I’m just commenting on their blog.”

“And how many blogs have you commented on before?”

Gears turn and pistons fly as he tries to remember if he’d ever done so before. “L-lots. Of Blogs.”

“Mhm.” She clearly knows he’s lying. “Well at the very least, this is good writing practice for you. Keep it up! Maybe update me every once in a while; let me know if they write an article I’d like.”

“I will, May, definitely!” He smiles easily at her and she smiles back before their view is interrupted by the server setting their bowls down between them. Peter inhales the licorice scent and thinks about the comment he left half-finished at home.

––––>><<––––

Three weeks later and five replies deep into a discussion on the blog’s latest post, “According to You: The Sokovia Accords Are a Human Rights Crisis,” CapitalizeTheB makes the next move.

CapitalizeTheB  
@20:01 today   
_Okay, real talk, this is very interesting but I’m not sure I can keep commenting on a thread that’s losing width by the second. Do you want to take this to a different site or app? Something made for conversations? I hope I’m not overstepping here. I do really really appreciate your comments and I want those to keep coming. I just need something more conducive to a messaging format._

Peter looks at the format of the website and cringes slightly. Every reply that’s made gets nested into the one above it by a few pixels so that, slowly but surely, the real estate of the thread creeps farther and farther to the right margin. Already, the most recent reply is roughly half of the width of the first comment.

RedWhiteAndJew  
@20:05 today   
_Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I was so caught up in our discussion that I didn’t notice._ (Peter refrains from adding a sweatdrop emoji here.) _I’ll leave the app choice up to you. I imagine you have a preference and it’s probably better than mine._

A few minutes later, he’s alerted to one last reply. It offers him a link invitation to an app called Signal which he downloads. They promise him that the link will be deleted once he accepts and sure enough, the entire comment is gone when he refreshes the page.

In the app, only one contact is staring back at him. 

Louise  
<1 minute ago   
_Hey, Red._

Peter can’t stop himself from smiling.

––––>><<––––

"Who ya texting?"

" _Jesus_ Christ, Ned!" Peter startles, nearly flinging his phone out into the street from where he sits on the front steps of his apartment building. Only his sticky hands keep it from a terrible fate. He cradles the device to his chest.

Ned just gazes at him expectantly, unmoved by the frantic display, leaning against the stone rail of the stairs like he owns the place.

"It's no one," he says automatically, moving the phone back into his line of sight. A notification pings and a smile slides onto his face. 

Ned clicks his tongue, holding a finger up likes he’s just had an idea. "It's MJ, isn't it? Are you two vague-flirting over decathlon stuff again?"

"We don't– it's not–" He leans back with a huff, looking at the overcast sky and taking a deep breath. He knows Ned is trying to get him to slip up and refuses to let him have that victory. "It's the blogger. We exchanged Signal contacts. She's planning a post about vigilantism's impact on minority communities and wanted my input."

Ned looks impressed, his eyebrows rising. "And it's _not_ MJ?”

"Nope. Her name's Louise." Peter smiles at the heavens, obviously pleased to know that.

Ned grins too and Peter sees something in his eye, a twinkle or hint of something conniving. He prepares himself for another teasing remark but it doesn't come. Instead, he stands in front of Peter and offers his hand. 

"Come on, I wanna get to the market before that cathode ray dealer packs up for the day."

Peter clasps his hand, standing easily regardless of the assistance. He pockets his phone but not without checking it for a notification that doesn't exist yet. 

"So what else do y'all talk about?" Ned asks with suspicious nonchalance as the two boys follow the sidewalk.

Peter shrugs noncommittally. "Not much, really. She's self-conscious about her work and sometimes she wants a second opinion before posting. She's gone way over what the project required but blogging turned out to be something she legit enjoys."

"Oh, it's a project? What class?" Ned explores with a thoughtful expression. He taps an index finger on his chin and Peter is getting the slight impression he’s being made fun of.

"Yeah, part of a journalism class.” Peter answers anyway. “Probably the same curriculum Ms Whitaker uses. I think I remember Liz mentioning a project like that."

"Interesting, interesting." Ned has upgraded all the way to stroking a nonexistent goatee. "Wouldn't it be wild if she _were_ in Ms Whitaker's class?"

Peter gives him a conflicted look, half concerned and half intrigued. "I guess so. I think she lives in Queens, at least, but that's still over two million people.”

"Yeah, you're right. It's a long shot. Plus I don't know anyone at Midtown who goes by Louise." 

Peter is taken aback a bit by how easily Ned drops the subject but he’s not going to push his luck. The conversation is quickly forgotten as the pair reach their destination, the South Queens Upcycle Market. They spend the next two hours making heart eyes at antique electronics and haggling with vendors for bits and pieces. Peter only checks his phone a few times and makes sure Ned’s attention is elsewhere each time. 

––––>><<––––

17:56

Ben: I think quoting the mayor's comments on Jamaica is a good way to drive home how people's expectations shape reality.

Ben: It has a bit of appeal-to-authority that could show privileged readers their bias and– 

Ben: Sorry. I see you typing. Go ahead. 

Louise: … 

Louise: Do you ever wonder if anyone cares?

Louise: Like, you're the only person in two months to comment on my articles. 

Louise: Obviously you care and I'm thankful for it, don't get me wrong. But. You already get it. 

Louise: I feel like I'm shouting into the void.

Ben: Well, I showed your blog to my aunt. 

Louise: Ben, no! 

Ben: She liked the one about the search engine that plants trees. And the one about hair wraps. 

Louise: Ben, I don't want pity views. 

Ben: They're not pity views, I promise. She actually liked the articles. Said she might share them with some co-workers. 

Louise: oh god i am unprepared

Louise: i need to redesign the site

Louise: their first impression will be that beige monstrosity

Ben: I thought you called it 'papyrus' and said it exuded 'timeless thoughtful reflection.'

Louise: this is no time for sass!

Ben: This is the perfect time for sass :)

Louise: I'm calling my webdev.

Peter lets his phone fall to rest on his sternum as he lays in bed. These conversations with Louise have been coming easier and easier for him since their first private contact. To call what they had in the beginning ‘awkward’ would really do it justice. Those initial messages were a mix of too-long-for-texting messages and short, quick clarifications which overall made actual conversation hard. A few days in, they started moving closer to a kind of equilibrium – finding their grove. Now it was just normal texting. Louise even let her otherwise immaculate grammar slip sometimes like in her frantic messages a minute ago.

Peter can’t deny how much he’s enjoying this. Even if forcing _himself_ to use correct grammar and spelling is borderline torture, it’s worth it in his book. Louise is the sort of person he kind of wishes he’d met earlier in life – easy to talk to, thought provoking, and with a wicked sense of humor. Their occasional bouts of what he calls ‘critical banter’ leave his heart racing with excitement as ideas are wagered, shot down, and rebuilt stronger in rapid-fire threads of text. He can see the results of those conversations in her articles, too. The ideas are better fleshed out and the tone more sure, a big boon when dealing with such sensitive topics as Louise flirts with.

A thought slips into Peter’s mind, held aloft by the reflection he is casting upon his communications with Louise. 

_Are we… friends?_

He immediately disregards the idea. They’ve only been speaking for a month or so. Texting for a little over a week. 

His only point of reference for this sort of thing is Ned and their friendship formed almost a decade ago at a Queens County science literacy after school program. There’s not much data to work with. After debating internally for a couple minutes, he decides to turn his observational study into a survey.

Ben: Hey, uhm, I have a question.

Ben: Are we friends?

Peter waits for a response as long as he possibly can, about 45 seconds, before sending another text.

Ben: Because I don’t have many friends but you seem like a cool person irl. A person I’d be friends with normally. 

Ben: Wait, I’m not trying to guilt you. That last text could have been worded better.

Louise: … 

Louise: … 

Ben: What is that?

Louise: I’m thinking.

Peter can’t bear the tension and springs up from his bed, pacing the floor. He doesn’t know why this is stressing him out so much; it’s not like he’s asking someone on a date. He’s just making a new friend. Potentially. Hopefully.

Louise: So.

Louise: I will answer your question with a question.

Louise: We have established that you live in NYC. Will you be attending the Climate Strike march this Saturday?

Peter’s pacing has taken him up the wall at some point and he pauses to reply upside down with his feet clinging to the space beside his window.

Ben: Yeah! For sure! I marched earlier this year too, with my friends from school.

Louise: Then we can be friends conditional on your attendance. Send me some proof. No selfies, those are cliché and distract from the common cause unity of a march.

Peter can feel himself nearly vibrating with excitement, now. He stands, two feet planted on the ceiling in complete defiance of gravity.

Ben: Can do! I look forward to being your friend, Louise!

He drops to the floor as gently as he can. Living in an apartment is difficult enough at times without neighbors yelling at him for ‘stomping around.’ Beside his desk are the poster boards and yardsticks Peter, Ned, and MJ will be using to make their signs tomorrow. Usually, he wouldn’t even bother thinking of something to write until everyone is on the floor in the living room, markers uncapped and paint pens primed. This time, however, the ideas are already churning in his mind. He grabs a notepad from a desk drawer and begins writing down potential slogans. 

If Louise wants proof, then he can send her a photo of his sign at the march. That way it technically shows him on location but still has a personal feel to it.

Peter grins, the pen cap trapped between his teeth.

––––>><<––––

“I can’t believe you lost your placard,” MJ ribs Peter for the umpteenth time today as the trio tromp up the stairs to the Parker residence. Their coats and boots shed small amounts of water from the drizzle that started up as they walked from the train.

“I didn’t _lose_ it, Em. I gave it to someone who lost _theirs_.”

“A likely story.” She throws a grin over her shoulder at him, as if he needed any reassurance that her jabs were in jest. 

Since crossing paths with her at the climate march back in April, Peter and MJ have slowly come to respect each other, at least in regards to their interest in protesting. Other than AcaDec, the two make no efforts at all to hang out unless it involves a protest, march, or strike of some sort. Thus, their humor and tentative friendship makes itself most apparent during those times.

“At least I got the photo I wanted. I took it with my phone so unless I misplace _that,_ I’m fine.” There’s a beat of silence followed by Peter frantically saying, “Oh god where’s my phone?!”

MJ looks over her shoulder again, concern stitching her eyebrows together, already mentally charting the last time she saw him use it, only to see the device in his right hand, screen glowing.

“Just kidding. It’s right here.” Peter is beaming a thousand watt smile at her and she has no choice but to make her most exasperated noise and roll her eyes so hard it physically hurts.

Ned, who up until now was too tired to join the banter, finally pipes up.

“Gu-u-uys, hurry u-u-up. I need to pe-e-e.”

“Not our fault you downed a 44 oz Sprite halfway through the march,” MJ retorts immediately. She slows her pace down ever so slightly to torture Ned. He just lets out an absolutely pitiful keening whine in response.

“Al-right, al-right.” She pushes open the door to the level where the Parkers’ apartment is and steps aside for Ned who bursts past her in a comically fast waddle. Peter and MJ just laugh at him as he stumbles into the unlocked apartment and out of sight.

“Hey,” MJ says quietly, once Ned is gone. Peter looks up at her.

She clears her throat and tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks for coming to the march with me. I know you would have gone anyway but I usually go with Gayle and with her stuck at university for midterms…” She trails off, not knowing how to end the sentence.

Peter just beams at her again, about 200 watt this time. “Always, MJ. You’re my friend. This is what friends do.”

Peter thinks he sees the beginnings of a smile grace her lips before a curtain of hair cuts off his view. The duo stride into the apartment and settle down on the couch to wait for Ned.

“Oh, did you want to see the picture of my sign?” Peter asks, taking out his phone and scrolling through his photoreel.

“After you kept it secret from us all through our crafting time earlier? Duh.” MJ shifts closer to him on the couch, leaning toward him to see his screen. She recognises a few photos as being taken today along with some older ones, including birds in the nearby park and several of a sunset seen from the roof of a tall building.

“Woo! I feel _much_ better!” Ned walks into the living room like a king entering his loving court with the side effect of distracting Peter from his photo search. “Do you wanna watch Lord of the Rings: Two Towers? I brought the BluRay extended cut!” He moves over to where his backpack rests against the recliner.

MJ glances at the clock on the wall beside the door and frowns. “I actually have to be home in about thirty minutes.”

“Aww, but you never stay!” Ned lets his arms hang at his sides, dejected. The blue, plastic box is already in his hand, ready to be opened.

“Yeah, I know. It’s not by design.” She rises from the couch and Peter can see that she legitimately looks disappointed by this turn of events. “You two can watch Two Towers without me. Maybe we can watch Return of the King together next time.”

“You mean it?” Peter asks quietly, gazing up at her. She glances down at him, catches his eyes, and looks away again with her chin up. 

She swallows once and replies just as quietly, “Yeah.”

Peter gives her a simple smile. “Travel safe. Let us know when you’re home. Please.”

“Afraid someone might try something with me, Parker?” she counters, regaining some of her gusto as she moves to gather her own bag.

“Afraid you might kill someone on the way and need help hiding the body.”

Peter knows she’s grinning even though she’s facing away. She confirms it when she replies only with, “Touché.”

Once she’s gone, Peter flips backwards over the couch to get popcorn from the kitchen and notices Ned staring him down with a knowing look.

“What?” Peter spins to look behind him, worried he missed something. Ned just shakes his head and goes to put the disc in the player, content to watch his two best friends be obvious fools.

––––>><<––––

16/10/17  
21:02   
Ben: So what do you think the next article is going to be about?

22:39  
Ben: I was thinking maybe a counter-piece to the last one. Zero in on the ways vigilantism helps minority communities so they can be focused on.

17/10/17  
07:55   
Ben: Hey, is everything okay?

12:12  
Ben: I know you told me not to text during school hours but I’m kind of worried. Hope I’m not overstepping.

16:24  
Ben: Louise?

Louise: hey.

Ben: Oh my god you’re alive! I’m not being funny. I was actually really worried. Are you okay? Can I help with anything?”

Louise: chill

Louise: please

Louise: this is just. a hard time for me.

Louise: im sorry

Ben: No, no, no, you don’t have to apologize. I get it.

Ben: Is this a, uhm, annual thing?

Louise: yeah.

Louise: i guess you do get it

Ben: I’m here. To listen or to distract you or whatever. We’re friends now. It’s my solemn duty.

Louise: youre a dweeb

Ben: I’ve been told that before.

Louise: good. just so you know

17:01  
Louise: can i know… who you lost?

Louise: god that sounds so needy

Louise: ignore me

Ben: My parents.

Louise: oh

Ben: I was really young. I can’t remember much about them but we have a lot of pictures. 

Ben: I think I look a lot like my dad. I have my mom’s eyes.

Louise: same

Louise: with the parents i mean

Louise: dad was out of the picture before I can remember

Louise: mom died two years ago

Louise: today

Louise: it sucks

Louise: it sucks so fucking much

Ben: Yeah. 

Ben: A friend likes to remind me “life sucks and then you die”

Louise: your friend has the right idea

Ben: I disagree. Life is what we make of it and I refuse to let the suck keep me down.

Ben: I’m a bisexual Jewish orphan and I’m only 17. The suck can have me when I’m dead.

Ben: Which won’t be any time soon.

Louise: Bisexual, huh?

Ben: Oops.

Ben: It’s not a big deal. I’ve never even kissed a guy.

Louise: Same.

Louise: Stop, nope, uh uh. I am not going down this path.

Louise: So about that article idea you had.

Ben: :)

Peter doesn’t call her out on the sudden topic change, even though he’s really curious if she meant she was also bisexual or also hadn’t kissed a guy. The answer to that question seems important for some reason but is also the sort of thing that might be too personal for the level of friendship they’re at right now. Instead, he chats with her for the next hour, going back and forth on whatever topic she comes up with. It starts with planning her next article but they somehow end up moving on to debating ice cream flavors – she loves salted caramel while he’s all about rocky road and butter pecan – and before he knows it, May is walking into his room to check on him.

“Oh, Peter, you’re still here? Isn’t this a patrol night?” She rests a plastic hamper of clothes on her hip and leans on the doorframe. 

Peter looks at the time on his phone and sure enough, it’s past six pm, long after he’d usually leave for Spider-Manning. 

“Woops! I got caught up talking to, uh, someone. I’ll head out soon, promise.” He reaches for the backpack sitting on his bed where the red and blue suit is tucked beneath several textbooks.

“You don’t have to patrol tonight,” Aunt May says, almost a whisper. “Just keep talking to your friend. It’s alright.”

Peter looks at her, still in the doorway, and the emotions in her eyes aren’t hard to notice. Sadness with a hint of pleading. Peter knows what she’s really asking. _Please don’t risk your life tonight. Be a normal teenager for once._ He pulls the costume into his lap, staring down at it, tugging the fabric between his fingers.

“It’ll be a quick patrol. A loop around Elmhurst and back. Just to keep my schedule.” 

May sighs, knowing that it might not seem like much but this is a major concession compared to his normal all-or-nothing attitude.

“Okay. A quick patrol.” She pauses in the middle of turning away, an inspiration striking her. “Bring me back some ice cream; you know what kind. We can watch America’s Next Top Model after.” Her eyes twinkle thinking about how this will force him to return sooner rather than later lest he let the ice cream melt.

Peter laughs, catching on to her plan immediately. “You got it, May. One pint of mint chocolate chip, coming your way.”

She nods once, proud, and walks away. Peter hears the front door shut behind her as she heads to the basement laundromat.

Peter picks up his phone to check the time again and sees a few more messages that arrived while he was distracted.

18:13  
Louise: Damn you, Ben. Now I want ice cream.

Louise: It’s mid-October. I can’t forgive you for this.

Louise: If I die from a double brain freeze, it’s your fault.

He replies with a smiley face and mutes the phone, setting it back on his desk. Moments later he’s suited up and clambering out into the frigid air. The first proper freeze probably won’t be until next week but the wind chill is making a convincing approximation. The heater in his suit activates automatically and he melts with relief. 

“Thanks, Karen.” 

He leaps off the brick wall, catching himself with a web at the last possible moment so the resulting swing is as swoopy as possible.

“Anytime, Peter. Where are we headed tonight?”

“I’m actually not going to patrol tonight. We’re just gonna stop at the corner store that has all the ice cream. I still have the Stark Card account linked to the suit, right?”

“Yes, Peter. Are you sure Tony will be okay with you using it for a snack run?”

“He’ll get over it.”

With a wholly unnecessary backflip, Peter dismounts from his web, landing feet together like a gymnast in front of the store. The open sign blinks lazily at him and the doorbells sings a jingly chorus when he enters. He’s been to this store plenty of times, as both Peter and Spider-Man, so he jogs right to where he knows the ice cream is. 

“Butter pecan for me, mint chocolate chip for–”

He halts so fast that his feet skid on the floor. His eyes are wide and he’s pretty sure the ones on the suit are too as he gazes down the aisle at none other than MJ, comparing two flavors of ice cream. 

Peter decides to try his luck at stealth and moves slowly, approaching the section with the middle-grade brands. One foot behind the other, he keeps his eyes on his goal and off the person he has to pretend not to know.

“Uhm, hi.”

Peter’s head snaps up so quickly it would have popped if he weren’t already as limber as a ragdoll. Right there, five feet away, MJ is looking at him with a shy expression and holding a container of caramel ribbon. 

“I guess cravings don’t care about the weather, huh?” She gestures with the hand holding the carton.

Peter decides to roll with this incredibly awkward conversion. As much as he’d rather flee, that would leave him with no ice cream and that’s just not an acceptable outcome.

“Of course. When my stomach wants butter pecan, it gets butter pecan.” He straightens up, dropping his ‘stealth’ pose, and pulls open the cooler. 

“Calorie counting isn’t on Spider-Man’s agenda then?” Peter leans back out of the cooler holding both flavors he came for. A chill that has nothing to do with the ice cream runs down his spine as his Peter Tingle™ alerts him to the mortifying fact that MJ just ran her eyes up and down his entire body.

_Did she just check me out?_

He struggles to maintain nonchalance and makes up for it with an overly confident and slightly nonsensical reply. “Hah, nope, this is all natural. Just like the ice cream.” He turns the containers so she can see the organic label.

She laughs, short and sweet. 

“See you around, Spider-kid,” she tells him as she brushes past, heading for the register. He waits for her to be out of sight before doing a weird little jig, part nerves, part celebration that he didn’t do something stupid. Not that he has a good grasp on what the threshold for stupid is.

Twenty minutes later, his items are paid for – thanks Tony – and he’s back home, reluctantly shucking the warm hug of his Spider-Man suit. After sticking the cartons in the freezer he changes into night clothes and grabs his phone from his desk. Only two messages await him.

Louise: Oh my god it’s cold out here.

And then thirty minutes later (only five minutes ago):

Louise: How’s your ice cream?

Peter’s breath catches in his throat upon reading the text. His senses flair and a cascade of concerns bubble up into his mind. He tries to remain calm as he types a careful reply.

Ben: What do you mean.

Louise: You didn’t reply for a bit so I assumed you also went to get ice cream.

Peter lets out a breath, still not convinced she doesn’t know something, only for her next message to set his heart racing again.

Louise: Dreyer’s butter pecan, right?

Ben: Louise.

Louise: Hey. It’s cool. I won’t tell. I just saw you at the checkout. Made a wild guess. 

Louise: I also won’t tell anyone that Spider-Man goes around commenting with an alias on random blogs.

Ben: I don’t.

Ben: Comment on random blogs I mean. Just yours.

Louise: Aww, I feel special! 

Peter’s heart rate is so high by now that the web shooters he still hasn’t taken off – and won’t, as usual, until he goes to bed – chirp once to tell him that he’s on the verge of a panic attack. He tries to sit on the bed but misses, landing on the floor instead.

Ben: Look this isn’t

Ben: This isn’t a joke.

Ben: No one is supposed to know. Not if I can help it.

Louise: Well that’s easy to work around. No one knows I know and I don’t even know who you really are, just that you are Jewish (not helpful), bi (not helpful), an orphan (not helpful), and go by Ben.

Louise: And I have no reason to believe that any of that is true anyway. Even the name.

Ben: It’s all true.

Louise: I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. :)

Though this is still a terrifying situation, deep breaths and sitting down is helping him regulate his flyaway heart somewhat. Her reassurances help too but his whole worldview is tumbling down brick by virtual brick as he wonders why the hell he put so much trust in someone he doesn’t even know in person. 

_Someone I can never know in person_ , he thinks, accounting for the fact that she now knows his secret.

Ben: How the hell are you taking this so easily?

There’s a delay, ellipsis at the bottom of the screen as she types something longer.

Louise: I’ve lived in Queens all my life. I remember the Battle of New York. Last week, someone robbed a bank down the street with a tesla coil. Last year, someone crashed an experimental plane on Coney Island. 

Louise: Spider-Man is not the weirdest thing I’ve dealt with.

Ben: The plane was me.

Louise: What?

Ben: I crashed the plane.

Ben: Some guy was trying to steal it but it was full of equipment from Avengers tower. I just wanted to stop him but he damaged the plane too much and I had to land it somewhere.

Louise: So you chose *Coney Island*?

Ben: No, I chose *not* to crash into buildings with people in them.

Louise: Oh.

Louise: That’s… more understandable. 

Louise: I’m sorry I’m being judgey. This is just honestly kind of wild that I know Spider-Man even though I know I just tried to play it off.

Louise: I’m *friends* with Spider-Man.

Louise: I wrote mean things about Spider-Man!

Louise: I’m not sorry about that first article by the way.

Peter stares at the ceiling, having slowly tipped sideways until he’s laying on the floor. He’s feeling so many emotions at once that they’ve all melded together into something that simply makes him tired.

Ben: I wasn’t expecting you to be.

He lets his arms flop down on his chest, phone still grasped in his right hand. 

“Peter, are you back? I finished the clothes! For now!” Aunt May calls from the living room.

With a long-suffering sigh and a burning in his eyes, he drags himself to his feet and makes an attempt to fix a smile to his face.

“I’m here, May!” he yells back, trudging out of his room. “Ice cream is in the freezer. I got it from the Stop and Shop on–” he pauses at the tight look on her face, eyes pinched and lips thin.

“Peter, is something wrong?” The worry in her voice is evident. “Did something happen on patrol?” She glides closer to him, reaching out to gather him into her arms.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and leans into her. “No, May, I didn’t patrol.”

May leans back to look at him, thinking. “Is it about that internet friend of yours?”

“May.” His tone is something between chastising and warning.

“So that is it.”

“ _May_.”

She steps back, holding him by the shoulders at arms length. “Whatever she told you, it’s not true. You are the most handsome, caring, intelligent young man in all of New York. Maybe the world.”

“No, May, she didn’t…” He sighs again and moves to the couch, falling over the back but landing upright. “She saw me at the store. I was in costume but she put two and two together from the timing and the ice cream I was holding and now she knows her pen pal is Spider-Man.” He tilts his head back, face buried in his hands. “That’s terrifying, May!”

She thinks for a long moment, hip cocked to the side, elbow in hand. Just when Peter can’t bear the silence any longer, she speaks. “Did you see her?”

Peter shakes his head negative. “She said she saw me at checkout. I didn’t notice anything. Didn’t even know until she messaged me after she got home.”

“Wow, this is tricky.” May drifts around the armrest to plop down beside Peter and throws an arm over his shoulders. “She knows her pen pal is Spider-Man, but not that it’s _you_. Peter.” She turns her head to face him suddenly, worried. “You didn’t use your real name, did you?”

“No, May, I used… I called myself… Ben.”

Sensing his apprehension, May shakes his shoulder. “That’s your middle name too, kid.”

“Yeah, I know, I just…” He tips forward. “No. I _don’t_ know. I don’t know anything!”

May moves back from his so she can fix a glare on him. “Peter Benjamin Parker. Do you still want to be this lady’s friend?”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation, to his own surprise.

“Did she handle finding out well?”

“She promised not to tell anyone and then made jokes about writing mean things about Spider-Man.”

May nods appreciatively. “It sounds like this might work out then. Why don’t you give it another day or two, see how things go, and then re-judge if you’re ready to keep this thing y’all have going.”

Peter considers the suggestion a moment. Really considers it. Then he nods.

“I can do that.”

––––>><<––––

Two weeks later, as the world slowly freezes over, he wonders why he was worried at all. Learning his secret has changed absolutely nothing about their friendship. 

Well, that’s not entirely true, Peter thinks. It’s definitely changed for the better. Jokes come easier now and little details about their lives begin to slip in. The day after the revelation, Peter texted Louise to set up boundaries for the next level of their friendship. To prevent her or anyone else from discovering Spider-Man’s real identity, they agreed mutually to 1) not mention names of anyone in their lives, instead using titles and 2) keep out personally identifying details.

It doesn’t take long for a new, more trusting rhythm to develop between them as they discuss the books they read, the tests they dread, and the hobbies they spend too much money on.

Ben: How’s the mural coming along, Lou?

Louise: Uggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Ben: Not great, then?

Louise: I forgot to close my blackout curtains and mixed the wrong color because of the sunlight and now there’s a slight tint of green in something that was supposed to be cream.

Ben: Is it really that bad?

Louise: It’s that bad.

Louise: I have to wait for it to dry and paint over it but I also wasted half an ounce of expensive acrylic paint mixing the wrong color.

Ben: Just use the wrong color where it would be right!

Louise: Your ignorance of color theory is astounding.

Ben: Ouch

A reminder pings on Peter’s phone telling him to get ready to meet Ned and MJ for coffee. After weeks of pestering, Ned finally convinced her to join the two outside of school hours for something other than a protest and Peter wasn’t going to squander this opportunity.

Ben: I’m meeting some friends in a bit. Need to make myself presentable for the outside world.

Louise: Same. TTYL Arachnikid.

Peter grins at the nickname, one of literal dozens Louise has come up with since finding out. 

His phone chirps again, a different messaging app this time.

Ned💻: Peter, Im like five minutes away

Ned💻: Just got off the train

Peter⏰: nice b ther n a sec

MJ👑: Really? I’m already at the coffee place.

MJ👑: And would it kill you two to use proper spelling and grammar?

Peter⏰: [eyebrows.gif]

Ned💻: [victorydance.gif]

MJ👑: [eyeroll.gif]

Peter dashes around his room gathering clean clothes to assemble into an outfit. Nice jeans, a science pun t-shirt (a circle of iron ions with the words “Ferrous Wheel”), and a thick jacket. He shoves his feet into his boots while calling out to May that he’s leaving.

It takes longer than usual to reach the coffee shop where the trio planned to start their hang out. A driving wind fights them and a minor gridlock blocks one pedestrian crossing on their path but eventually they arrive.

“Took you dweebs long enough.”

Peter blinks against the warmth of the coffeeshop and into the eyes of Michelle Jones, standing beside a table with a drink in hand and a gentle smile on her face. Her hair is braided into a tail that rests on her shoulder and her wool coat is undone, revealing a red top and jeans.

“Hey, MJ,” Peter replies breathlessly from the chill. A smile to match hers slides onto his face until Ned pushes him forward. 

“Dude, my ass is still outside!”

Peter laughs, moving forward. “Sorry man.”

Once everyone is sitting at a table, warm beverages in hand, their brains have unfrozen enough for normal human conversation. It doesn’t take long after that for Ned and MJ to get into a debate about his latest television obsession.

“I’m not watching Big Bang Theory,” Michelle declares with a swipe of her hand. 

Ned looks affronted. “I didn’t even say the name of the show, yet!” 

“It’s Big Bang Theory,” Peter and MJ say at the same time, shooting each other a small, appreciative smile.

Ned throws up his hands. “Fine. It is. But I still think you’d enjoy it. Lots of nerdy humor, dealing with the problems of college and adulthood.”

“As well as rampant sexism, unfunny jokes that wouldn’t work without a laughtrack, and token minorities.” MJ lists her qualms with ease, ticking them off on her fingers.

The two bicker back and forth with Ned continuing his attempts to redeem it and MJ not giving him relief in her disparaging. Peter just watches them, sipping at his hot caffè mocha. Seeing his friends getting along like this makes him happy in a way few things do. For the last month or so, MJ has been more open to their offers, their smiles, their greetings. Whereas before, she might acknowledge them with a blank stare at best most days, now she consistently greets them back. Peter isn’t sure what changed but he’s happy for it because of how it makes days like today possible. He watches the smiles on their faces and promises himself to do his best to never let them fade for long.

Peter slides back into the conversation some time after MJ has recommended Orange is the New Black to Ned and the other boy has expressed his reservations. Louise’s most recent article bubbles up to the forefront of Peter’s mind, a review of the show’s fifth season which aired months ago.

“Didn’t the show, ya know, go off the deep end recently?” Ned bargains, looking uncomfortable with his lack of knowledge and the show’s content.

“If you consider the death of a pivotal character and subsequent violent revolution against the dehumanizing prison structure ‘off the deep end’, sure. I think it’s just more of the same, though. It’s right in the groove of what the show wants to and has been doing.”

Peter lifts his cup to his lips but doesn’t drink, stopping when he sees Ned and MJ staring at him.

“Spoiler? Sorry.”

“I didn’t realize you watched it,” MJ breathes out, a tumble of emotions behind her mask.

Peter suddenly feels like he’s done something wrong and sets down his cup. His hand leaps to the back of his neck and he looks away. “I, uh, had someone recommend it a while back. Only caught up last night.”

MJ turns to face him entirely which startles Peter. His subconscious immediately plans an escape route.

“What did you think?”

“What?” Peter gulps audibly, still not letting go of his plan.

“What did you think about Orange is the New Black?”

Peter glances to Ned who just shrugs, eyebrows high. He looks back to MJ.

“Well I… didn’t have many expectations at the beginning. I thought it was going to be something different from how the first episode went.”

MJ nods along with her full attention on Peter. Beside them, Ned just smiles and sips his tea.

––––>><<––––

From the coffee shop to the park and then to the Parker apartment, MJ and Peter don’t stop talking. Though they started off being a bit vague and unspoilery for Ned’s sake, they gave up not ten minutes in and leaned fully into the conversation. 

Ned doesn’t tell them that he also watched Orange is the New Black because his sister likes it and he enjoys background noise when he does homework.

Ned doesn’t tell Peter that he reads CapitalizeTheB’s blog too and knows that she posted a partial review recently.

Ned knows that the only reason Peter watched OitNB was to write a comment on that post and that Peter skipped out on more than one hangout to sit at home alone and stream it.

Ned knows a lot more than he’d ever let on.

Ned is enjoying this secret knowledge immensely.

Being left out of these conversations doesn’t faze him very much at all (just a little) because seeing his two friends so engaged after years of standoffishness is a beautiful sight. And hey, if they realize a little of what he knows, all the better. But he’s not doing it for them. That wouldn’t be as fun.

Ned clears his throat loudly, cutting through his friends' lamentations of a certain character’s arc in season four.

“Guys, as much as I love seeing you two embracing your inner geek together, we did agree to watch The Return of the King today.” Behind him, the menu is already on screen, muted.

“Oh right, the 4+ hours extended edition nerd fest,” MJ clarifies with dripping sarcasm. Nevertheless, she leans back into the couch cushions, getting comfy.

“We can start back at Fellowship if you want? Catch you up. The whole sprint is 11 hours or so.” Peter smiles sweetly at his absurd suggestion.

“No, I already caught up. Watched the extended editions of the first two last weekend by myself.” MJ smiles sweetly back at him, a mocking mirror of his own expression.

“Oh,” is all Peter can say, his face falling into something like confusion mixed with awe. “I… guess we should,” he turns to face Ned, “hit play?”

The menu fades out, replaced by the studio credits as the movie begins.

Peter, still struggling with the implication of MJ _preparing_ for this movie night, just sits dumbly in his seat, occasionally glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

MJ is silent until the protagonists appear on screen. “Did you know that a casting staff member for The Hobbit was fired for refusing to hire non-white actors as Hobbits?”

Both boys flail their arms at her, shushing dramatically. She grins, not taking her eyes off the screen.

––––>><<––––

MJ👑: Hey dweebs, I made it home.

Ned💻: [salute.gif]

Ned💻: See Peter nothing to worry about

Peter⏰: i wasnt worrued

Peter⏰: about mj

Ned💻: Mmhmm [thelook.gif]

MJ👑: Go to sleep, losers.

Peter⏰: night em

Ned💻: [countingsheep.gif]

––––>><<––––

11/23/17  
16:57   
Louise: Happy Colonizers Day /s

Ben: Happy Thanksgiving to you too, Lou.

Louise: What are you thankful for?

Ben: My family and friends. That’ll be my answer every year, every time.

Ben: I’m nothing at all without them.

Louise: Dramatic. I expected nothing less.

Ben: How about you? What are you thankful for?

Louise: That our white overlords permit our existence.

Ben: Louise.

Louise: Fine.

Louise: ….

Louise: ….

Ben: Go on.

Louise: you

From where Peter is sitting, he can see his entire family in the kitchen, laughing at some stupid story Tony is telling. The Starks decided, after inviting themselves to Peter's 17th birthday 'party' five months ago, that family holidays included them too and invited May and Peter to their house upstate for every special occasion until the end of time. 

Since he's in the living room and they're on the other side of a glass wall from him, he hopes they can't see him turn red from collar to brow and struggle not to choke in his sweet potato kugel. By the time he's successfully swallowed his food, Louise has sent another message.

Louise: I know that sounds stupid and cheesy but I figure you love that kind of thing.

Louise: And it’s true so bonus points.

Louise: You’re just

Louise: Such a good person (from what I can tell solely through the medium of text)

Louise: I don’t have many friends

Louise: But I think I’m a good judge of character

Louise: And my life has simply been better since you well-actually’d your way into it two and a half months ago.

Louise: So yeah, I’m thankful for you, Ben. No undos.

Peter waits for the indication that she’s typing to disappear before he replies.

Ben: At the risk of sounding underwhelming… same.

Ben: You’ve made me a better person, I think. My family says so.

Ben: And what I said before about my family and friends? You’re in that. 

Louise: You told your family about me?

Ben: Just my aunt and best friend.

Ben: I can’t help but brag sometimes. That’s okay, right?

Louise: Yeah :)

From the kitchen, Tony yells, “Petey, we’re pouring champagne! Come make a toast!”

Peter looks up to see everyone smiling at him through the glass, plates cleared of savory items and piled with sweets. He beams back at them, holding a finger up asking them to wait a moment.

Ben: Apparently it’s time for toasts, Lord help me.

Louise: Save me some bubbly!

Ben: You got it.

Peter climbs off the couch, his spirit warm through and through from the conversion he’s walking away from and the uninhibited smiles he’s walking toward. This is the best Thanksgiving he’s ever had, with some of the best people he’s ever known, and he knows that this is just the beginning.

––––>><<––––

12/02/17  
12:00   
Louise: How’s your Christmas shopping coming along?

Ben: I’m Jewish.

Louise: You know

Louise: I know that and thought of that before I texted.

Louise: And still made a fool of myself.

Ben: [photo12022017113432.jpg] (it’s racks upon racks of coats, shoes, and homegoods)

Ben: It’s going good, thanks for asking.

Louise: I’ve been bamboozled.

Louise: Wait, is that the Burlington in Rego?

Louise: I’m at the Macy’s on the other side of the expressway! 

Ben: Last minute shopping?

Louise: Literally a single item. My insane sister wants this particular pillow that’s not available online. I did everything else back in September. It’s my sanity-preserving tradition.

Ben: It’s almost poetic that you’re so close because there’s no way I’m convincing my aunt to cross the expressway.

Louise: Aww, you don’t want to finally meet your virtual friend in the middle of thongs of middle aged white women desperate for the one particular candle that isn’t even special or rare or nice smelling?

Louise: *throngs. I swear, the one time I typo.

12:07  
Ben: to many bags cant type sor

Ben: latr

Louise: Yeah okay.

12:14  
Louise: You’re gone? Not gonna read this?

12:22  
Louise: Do you want to get coffee sometime?

Louise: I wanna meet you for real. 

15:03  
Louise: Did you die?

Louise: Can I have the Spider Suit in your will?

Louise: It’s one-size-fits-all, right?

15:42  
Ben: Yeah!

Louise: Wow, you’re really giving me the Spider Suit?

Ben: no, i mean

Ben: the

Ben: The coffee

Louise: Oh!

Louise: Cool.

Louise: There’s a little coffee shop I like by Forest Hills station. They have vegetarian food too if that’s your thing.

Ben: Sounds like a plan :)

Louise: :))

Ben: :)))

Peter locks his phone, dreading a four-parentheses smiley, and dashes out of his room. His sock clad feet slide on the floor as he skids toward the living room.

May looks up from her crossword, hunched over the coffee table with her grandma glasses perched on her nose. “Is everything okay, Peter?”

“Louise wants to meet up.” He tries to say it calmly, face straight and serious, but a grin forces its way on anyway and he clutches the phone to his chest. “She invited me to get coffee with her.” His face twitches as he tries to wrangle the smile back down.

May claps her hands together, standing to hurry over to him. “Oh, I’m so excited for you! When is it?” Her hands pull him close, one on his shoulder, another on his head.

“It’s–” Peter’s face scrunches up in thought.

“Did you happen to run in here before she said?” May asks with a tone that indicates she already knows the answer.

Peter ignores her and the blush rising up his cheeks. Pulling the phone from where it is practically glued to his sternum, he swipes open a notification from her.

Louise: How’s tomorrow at 10?

Louise: Ben? 

Ben: Yeah that’s great!

Ben: Sorry, I ran off to tell my aunt.

Ben: See you tomorrow!

Louise: See you tomorrow :)

Peter looks back up at May, no longer fighting the smile that spreads across his face and crinkles his eyes.

May’s expression turns motherly as she strokes his cheek. “Oh, I’m so happy. Your first date in over a year!”

Peter pushes away from her gently. “What? No, May, this is just a meet up. We’ve never even seen each other in person before.” He swallows, forcing down his own ridiculous expectations so that he can undersell them to May. “We might not… She might not like me once she meets me.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker, if she doesn’t like you after all this time, she never deserved you.” Her eyebrows descend, weighed down with sternness. “How long have you two been talking now?” 

“Uh.” His eyes go glazy as he does the math in his head. “It’s been… three and half months… ish.”

“With how much you talk, if she isn’t sure by now that she likes you, then she might just be as clueless as you.”

“Hey!”

May sighs. “Look, Peter. It sounds like you’re very excited for this but I only want to make sure you’re happy. I’d be lying if I said I’m not afraid this is some big plot to draw you out into the open.”

Peter lets his head hang, bonking May’s shoulder with his forehead. “Yeah. I thought of that too.”

“Let’s just… take some precautions, alright? Bring your web shooters, maybe have Ned walk there with you, text me when you arrive and leave. Does that sound okay?”

He’s silent a moment, considering, and then he nods with his head still down. “Yeah.”

“Good. Now look at me.” Peter does as she says. “This will go great. Your superpower might as well be expecting the worst but mine is expecting the best. It’ll go great. Just you see.” She smiles a crooked smile and tweaks his nose. He scrunches up his face, batting her hand away. When he looks up again, the fond look in her eyes warms his heart.

“Thanks, May.” 

“Anytime, kiddo.”

––––>><<––––

“So the plan is, you and I walk together to the coffee shop. I’ll go in ahead of you and once you see me greet her, you can do your own thing. Text May that I found her; do _not_ take a photo of us together no matter how much May said she’d pay you for it. Got it?” 

Peter halts his frantic pacing, turning to face Ned. The other boy is sitting on his own bed, smiling, unconcerned with anything Peter is saying. Above Ned on the top bunk, his little brother Andre stares down at them.

“Look, Pete, this is gonna go great,” Ned tells him, rising leisurely. “You guys have known each other forever. It’ll be _fine_.”

Peter swipes his hand backwards through his already tousled hair. “You keep saying that Ned but what if? _What if?_ ”

Ned takes Peter’s shoulders and gives him a gentle shake with each word. “Pete. Petey. My dude. You’re good.” He glances at the wall clock. “We should leave now, get there a bit early. Don’t wanna disappoint Louise like you do MJ.”

Peter, by way of response, just grumbles loudly at the jab.

“Andre! Guard this room with your life! Do not let Angel in here to play with LEGOs. Or my action figures. Just don’t let her in here.”

Andre nods solemnly. Pacified, Ned marches out the door with Peter close behind.

09:25  
Ben: On my way.

Ben: I’m wearing a blue hoodie.

Louise: See you soon :)

The whole way over from Ned’s house, Peter is sweating bullets and trying not to have a heart attack. He takes off and puts back on the hoodie three times during the fifteen minute train ride until Ned tells him to stop and he begrudgingly keeps it on.

It’s ridiculous, really. Peter has never been this nervous to meet someone before in his whole life. He thinks it’s a little unfair, really. Louise probably isn’t nearly as nervous. Her texts have been cool as a cucumber even back during her cute confession on Thanksgiving.

_Woah, wait. Cute?_

He shakes his head, drawing Ned’s attention but before his friend can say anything, the intercom alerts them to their approaching stop.

“It’s the Red Reed Café,” Peter tells Ned as they step off the train. “One street over, a bit down.” He can finally feel his nerves coming under control with each breath of frigid December air. 

A few minutes of walking puts them in front of the location and Peter walks in without pausing, afraid he’ll lose his gumption if he pauses. He casts his eyes around the shop, taking in the industrial cage lighting, artwork-covered walls, and tasteful yet mismatched furniture. He counts open seats, noting that it’s only about half full, before pulling out his phone to text Louise.

“Peter?”

He freezes at the familiar voice and looks to the table by the window which he missed on his first glance. MJ is looking back at him, her eyes wide with… well Peter would say something like fear but that doesn’t make sense. He smiles at her.

“Oh, uh, hi MJ. What’s up? I guess my friend picked a good place to meet if you approve of it.” When she doesn’t reply, instead continuing to stare at him, his smile falters and he looks down at his phone. “I’m just gonna… text her.” He clears his throat.

Before he can unlock his phone, MJ has scrambled out of her chair, a metallic shriek sounding out as it moves on the floor ungracefully. She grabs her satchel and exits the shop in a flurry, leaving behind her drink. Peter watches through the front window while she crosses the street, expecting her to come back for the beverage. She doesn’t.

_I guess she had somewhere to be._

After a moment more, he sits in the chair facing the one MJ just vacated and lifts his phone into view.

10:01  
Ben: Hey, I’m here. I don’t see you?

Ben: Blue hoodie, like I said. It’s got a gold orbital model of an atom on it.

Ben: That’s the Midtown SST logo. I guess I can tell you that now since we’re about to meet for real.

10:15  
Ben: I went ahead and ordered a drink. Hope that’s okay.

10:29  
Ben: Are you okay? 

Ben: If you’re in trouble or need to reschedule or anything please just tell me.

10:36  
Ben: Are we okay?

10:50  
Ben: I get it.

11:11  
Ben: sorry i got my hopes up

Ben: its my fault i expected so much

Ben: im sorry

––––

Petey Parkey: she isnt coming

nedededed: omw

––––>><<––––

Peter has never been ashamed to cry. After Uncle Ben died, Aunt May saw him trying to hold in his tears at the funeral and told him something that forever changed how he felt about crying.

_“You’re trying to stop crying because you want to be strong, right? Do you think I’m weak because I’m crying? No. Sometimes crying is the bravest thing we can do.”_

So here he sits, on his bed in the dark with a pint of rocky road, crying gently. Sitting beside him, holding the laptop on which plays a movie Peter isn’t paying attention to, Ned just lets his hand slide up and down Peter’s back in soothing circles. The set up isn’t ideal or cinematic but it’s what Ned knows Peter needs.

“I just don’t understand, Ned,” Peter mumbles for the third time in ten minutes. “We were texting right up until I left your house.” He sniffles. “She just ghosted me.”

“She just got scared, dude. She probably hyped you up as much as you did her and got psyched out.”

“I’ll never know.” Peter sniffles again, harder, and reaches for a tissue. “She’ll never text me again.”

“Dude, you can’t know that,” Ned says over the nose trumpet.

“Then you can’t know it was just because she was scared!” 

Ned’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He pushes the laptop onto Peter’s knees and angles away so that the screen won’t be visible to his couch partner.

MJ🖤: I can’t believe you!

Ned grimaces, not emotionally prepared for where this conversation is going.

MJ🖤: I saw you outside when he walked into the café. You knew where he was going, you knew I was going to be there, and you SAID NOTHING.

MJ🖤: How long have you known, Leeds?

Ned looks up at a still petulant Peter staring unseeing at the laptop. 

“Dude, you gonna be okay if I step away for a sec?” 

Peter just shrugs, not even looking over. Ned climbs off of the bed, holding back a sigh, and walks out into the hall of the Parker residence. 

Ned👀: i just want you two to be happy

Ned👀: you both refuse to confront whatever it is between you

Ned👀: believe it or not, i didnt lie or mislead through this whole thing

Ned👀: all i did was not correct peters assumptions

MJ🖤: That’s lying by omission you nerdy dweebish prick!

MJ🖤: I’m so mad at you I can’t even come up with good insults!

MJ🖤: And you never answered my question. How. Long. Have. You. Known.

Ned👀: i might have been the reason he replied to your sm smackdown blog

MJ🖤: From the beginning?! I can’t beli

MJ🖤: HE’S SPIDER-MAN OH MY FUCKING GOD I WAS RIGHT AND I CAN’T EVEN BE HAPPY ABOUT IT

MJ🖤: YOU STOLE THIS FROM ME

Ned👀: im sorry

A.D.M.I.N.🤖: User “MJ🖤” is offline and will receive your message when they come online.

Ned rests his head against the wall, dread collecting like a pit in his stomach. He had so much hope for this plan. They were supposed to fall for each other without their pre-existing prejudice in the way and then realize they’d be in love all along. It was perfect, fit for a rom-com, like a Lifetime movie made real.

And instead one best friend now hates him and the other is as clueless as ever. 

_Should I tell him? Should I drop this whole stupid plan and just tell him?_

Ned taps his head on the wall a few times. If he did that, he’d probably just lose _two_ best friends tonight. But it might be for the best overall. He deserves whatever punishment fate sends his way now.

He knocks on the door and walks in. “Hey, Peter, I need to tell you something.” 

Peter holds up one hand to Ned, palm out, and with the other holds his phone to his ear.

“Yeah, got it. The bakery on– yeah. No, I’ll do it before school. Yes, I can get up that early. I promise. I _promise_ promise; you can count on me. Sorry you won’t be able to make it. Thanks. Talk to you later, MJ.” 

Peter looks at the phone until the call screen goes away and then addresses Ned. “You okay, man? You look pale.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m–” His voice cracks. He clears his throat. “I’m good. What was that about?”

Peter slumps back against the wall. “MJ said she can’t make it to the last three days of school before break. Something about being infectious. So she asked me to get the cake for the AcaDec Christmas party tomorrow.”

“Wonder why she didn’t ask me,” Ned replies with a chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood. “I’m way more punctual.”

“She said she was mad at you.”

“Oh.”

Peter rolls off the bed, closing the laptop and gathering the cord. “I think you should head home. I have to be up early to get the cake and I’m already really tired from… today.”

“Oh, yeah yeah, sure.” He takes the laptop from Peter, packing it away into his bag and hefting the backpack onto his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he offers with a smile.

“Sure, dude.” 

Peter closes his bedroom door. It’s gentle but Ned’s nose is inches from the wood. 

“Right.”

––––>><<––––

> According to You: Enhanced Individuals Are Minorities and Should Be Protected
> 
> Posted by CapitalizeTheB  
> Thursday, 21 December 2017
> 
> For a better understanding of the specific arguments I make in this article, I recommend you read the previous two installments in this series: Sokovia Accords for the Layman and The Sokovia Accords Are a Human Rights Crisis. 
> 
> From the second installment, it should be obvious that the manner in which the Accords single out enhanced individuals for additional scrutiny and restrictions mirrors the way certain administrations have targeted ethnic and religious minorities following major terror attacks in the last several decades. This similarity allows us to establish a legal precedent for the ethical treatment of enhanced individuals based on how each of those ethnic and religious restrictions was overturned in courts high and low with some cases [Caldwell et al v. South Carolina] [Hawaii v. Trump] reaching the Supreme Court.
> 
> The argument then becomes a matter of classifying enhanced humans as ‘protected’ similar to… 

––––––––––– [Click here to read more] –––––––––––

**Comments**

RedWhiteAndYOU  
@03:08 today   
_This is an incredibly compelling argument. I’ve studied the cases you mention here and to deny the connection would be foolish. I’ll share this article around; maybe we can get it some traction._

_Keep up the good work._

CapitalizeTheB  
@08:34 today   
_Red, I’m sorry. I know this isn’t the time or place but I can’t stop thinking about how messed up it was for me to just ghost you like that. You deserve better. I appreciate that you still chose to comment on my article despite how I treated you. Text me when you see this. We’ll work it out, I promise._

RedWhiteAndYOU  
@10:17 today   
_Ma’am, I’m not sure who you think I am but I’m flattered by the kind words. I hope whoever they’re meant for sees them._

CapitalizeTheB  
@10:40 today   
_Oh no, oh my god, I’m so sorry! I mistook you for another commenter with a similar username._

RedWhiteAndYOU  
@12:11 today   
_I assumed as much. I’m not insulted, I assure you. Whoever you thought you were talking to obviously means a lot to you. If I may make a recommendation, don’t let this chance go. If you can accidentally say those words to a stranger, you can do it again for the right person. I know what it’s like to lose a friend. The longing for one more dance can haunt us for a lifetime but sometimes fate has a way of handing us another dime for the jukebox._

_Don’t reply to me. Chase your friend._

_P.S. I don’t know how much jukeboxes cost nowadays._

––––>><<––––

Peter blinks against the bright screen in his dark room. The article had been posted late last night while he slept and he only saw the notification email ten minutes ago when he finally dragged himself from his deep depression fueled slumber. He hasn’t even read the article yet. When he scrolled down for the [read more] button, he overshot and landed in the comments. Now this conversation between Louise and a new commenter is staring at him, confusing him, tangling his heart with his brain. The final comment by RedWhiteAndYOU was only posted four minutes ago.

He reaches for his phone. A tightness constricts his throat; fear, sadness, and disappointment mingling just like they’d done as he fell asleep last night and the night before. Could the comments on the screen be fakes, constructed to taunt him? Is he even awake right now or is he having a dream where his hopes and fears combine into something unsustainable? 

Peter’s phone vibrates once – he put it on silent at some point in the last 24 hours – and he drops it in surprise. By the time he retrieves it from under his chair, a second notification has arrived. Peter sucks in a breath, afraid to let it out.

Louise: I don’t deserve this but

Louise: Can we try again?

Ben: why should i put that effort in again

Louise: Because

Louise: Because I know I fucked up. I know it. I recognize it. I admit to it. 

Louise: But there’s more to the story and you deserve to know that too.

Louise: If you can bear to, please meet me at the Red Reed Café in an hour.

Louise: Don’t bring your friend. Don’t even tell him.

Louise: Is that okay?

Peter tips all the way forward until his head is resting on his desk. The cool faux wood laminate feels nice against his forehead and the pounding headache it contains. Should he go through with this? Does she deserve another chance? Giving her the first one was hard enough, considering her knowledge of his extracurricular activities. Being ghosted by her wasn’t just a betrayal, it _scared_ him. 

Ben: no. it’s not okay

Ben: but i’ll give you one chance to make it okay

Ben: one chance

Louise: Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!

Louise: I’ll see you in an hour!

Peter slumps in his chair, exhaustion trying to pull him back down to the pit he’d only risen from minutes ago.

_One chance,_ he repeats to himself, forcing his limbs to cooperate and move him toward the bathroom to wash up. _One chance_.

––––>><<––––

In the time it takes him to shower, dress, and travel to the coffee shop, Peter thinks. He thinks about all the interactions he ever had with Louise. He thinks about all the things they’ve said to each other. And one thing keeps coming up.

_“Don’t bring your friend. Don’t even tell him.”_

She’s referring to Ned. That much is obvious. She can only know Ned was with him if she was also at the coffee shop since – and he’s very sure about this – Peter never mentioned that he was bringing a friend. Ned didn’t even come into the building with him. She’s either making a big assumption about someone walking beside Peter as he approached or she knows something she isn’t revealing. He is starting to get a better idea of what that might be. 

_“Why don’t you ask Ned? He lives closer to the bakery.”_

_“I’m… mad at Ned. Don’t ask him why. Please.”_

Those two mentions of Ned stand out in Peter’s mind. A thread connects them, something nearly tangible that fades out when he peers too closely. Two different people, both asking him to leave Ned out of the conversation. Does MJ have another sister? She’s mentioned Gayle before; six years older, she took custody of MJ after their mother died. 

The thread thickens, more connections piling on. 

Louise and MJ both seem to know Ned. They were both upset with him at the same time. They both lost their mom a few years ago. They’re both black girls who live in Queens and attend protests. They’re both outspoken activists and call out racism every chance they get.

The thread is more like a rope now, composed of dozens of coincidences, happenstances, and questionable details. At one end, Louise. At the other, MJ.

Autopilot has moved his feet in the absence of his conscious brain and he steps through the doorway of the café into the coffee and pastry scented air. Unlike his last visit, Peter isn’t nervous. Maybe all his nerves shrivelled up and died after four straight days of nearly catatonic anxiety and dejection. He takes a deep breath, savoring the atmosphere, and lets his eyes sweep the room.

There. Sitting in a booth near the back, she catches his eyes with a shy, sad smile. She offers the seat opposite her with a small gesture. Peter moves fluidly through the shop – slightly more crowded than last time – to stop beside the table.

“Peter.” Her voice is quiet. Tired.

“MJ.” He echoes her weariness. After a moment, neither of them has said anything else so he slips into the booth. There’s a cup of vanilla chai tea on his side. A flavor he admitted to Louise was his favorite.

“When did you figure it out?” she asks him, her hands curled around her own cup. Her hair is down, a look Peter isn’t used to but he is far from critical of it.

He looks back toward the door of the shop. “About two minutes ago.” 

Her eyes go wide and she makes a noise, a startled laugh cut short. “So you weren’t messing with me Sunday.”

It’s his turn to be surprised. “What? No! I–” He ducks his head, cowed by his own outburst. “I’ve been honest this whole time.” It isn’t meant to be a jab but it comes out like one, except for his pitiful tone.

MJ’s head tips forward, a wave of brown curls blocking her face from view. A moment later, she looks up again, through the waves. “Me too. I didn’t know until Sunday.”

Peter presses his lips together in a thin line. “So Ned…”

“Knew,” she finishes. “The whole time.”

“He knew that the blog was yours?”

“He helped me with the formatting. He was there when I made it.”

Peter lets his eyes close, taking it in. “Why?”

“Why did he mislead us? Why did he keep the truth from us?”

Peter nods, eyes still closed.

“He wanted us to be happy.”

His eyes snap open, looking right into hers. “Really? He has a shit way of doing it.”

“Don’t I know it. But…” MJ tucks her hair behind her ear and looks to the side. “I _have_ been pretty happy these last few months. Happier than I can remember being in years. Until, you know, Sunday.”

Peter feels a small smile on his face, unbidden. The corners of MJ’s mouth tilt upwards as well, practically a full smile for her.

“Same,” Peter replies, using the word the way Louise had, to summarize and empathize with something too complicated to simply repeat. A thought occurs to him at the comparison.

“So, Louise?”

MJ’s reaction to the name isn’t what Peter expected. Her hands clench, her mouth opens into a tiny ‘o’, and she glances at him sidelong, still facing the bar to her right. A nervous laugh flutters past her lips, doing something funny to Peter’s heart.

She bites her lip. It’s maybe the most demure thing Peter has ever seen her do. “It’s my middle name. Michelle Louise Jones.”

“I like it.” 

Her small smile twitches into something more and Peter feels his heart quicken. He wants to see more of that. Unfortunately, MJ lifts her drink to her lips to stifle the expression. 

“You probably figured out where Ben comes from by now.”

MJ sighs, laughing lightly. “Yeah, I’m kind of embarrassed by that, actually. Peter B. Parker. You write it on damn near everything you own. ‘B’. Ben. Named for your uncle?”

Peter nods. “It’s a name I’m proud to carry.” He throws a lopsided grin at her. “Ben and Louise. Pretty funny that we both picked our middle names, huh?”

MJ waves a hand in the air between them, a blush rising on her cheeks. “Don’t– don’t say it like that!”

“What? Ben and Louise? Louise and Ben?”

She huffs, blowing hair out of her eyes to make it seem nonchalant. “I can’t believe I had to become your friend twice to finally see your mean side.”

“So we are? Still friends?” 

She scoffs. “Of course. I know a good thing when I have it. I even would have approved of Ned’s methods if it weren’t _me_ he was lying to.”

It’s Peter turn to blush, looking down at his drink. A silence lingers between them, not uncomfortable at all, as the two each consider what comes next in this little dance.

“So, for–”

“I was thi–”

They both try to talk at the same time. Peter chuckles and MJ just covers her face with her hand. 

“You first,” Peter concedes.

“Forgive me for being forward–”

“Never,” Peter quips. MJ glares at him goodnaturedly.

“But this is getting awkward and I don’t do awkward. There’s something more to this meeting.”

“Other than our shared annoyance with our best friend?”

She ignores him. “What were you hoping for from the… well, the meeting Sunday?”

Peter blushes again and clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “That’s, uh, that’s not really a fair question to ask, Em. You invited me.”

“It’s just a question.”

“What were _you_ hoping for?” he counters childishly.

“Peter.”

He swallows and fidgets, buying time as he comes up with a response. "Fine. I was… I was optimistic. Cautiously, after I managed to stop overthinking things like I always do.” He shifts in his chair again. “It was wild, that I wouldn’t just get along with a random blogger online but that we would become friends and then! And then, they live in Queens too? You can't fault me for getting a little rom– er, excited about it.” He glances up, hoping she didn’t hear his slip up. A strange emotion occupies her eyes, one Peter can’t identify. Maybe she didn’t notice. “It was just too perfect, ya know?"

MJ nods, holding her cup in front of her mouth but not drinking from it. 

“I was excited but I was also actually really scared.” He says this without any shame. Fear is an emotion Peter has learned to embrace since gaining powers. “There were things that you– that _Louise_ knew that I’d never told anyone else. I kept our friendship from Ned for the most part because I was afraid of him being jealous. Which I now realize was pointless.” He pauses, licking his lips. His eyes roam the table, MJ, the wall behind her, not staying anywhere for too long. “Meeting Louise after having opened myself up like that was super scary. I gave her so much power over me with those secrets.” He suddenly looks exasperated. “Oh man, I never got to tell you I was Spider-Man….”

MJ laughs openly at that realization. She sets down her cup so as to not spill it and leans forward a bit for secrecy’s sake. “You wanted to tell me?”

“Yes! I thought we’d been getting closer, especially after the movie night. You called me and Ned your friends at the first AcaDec practice after Thanksgiving. You’re really smart and observant and I was afraid you’d figure it out if I didn’t tell you.”

“And then I did.” She smiles at the pained expression he makes. “What’s so bad about me finding out if you wanted to tell me anyway?”

“Because I’ve never told anyone! First Tony, then Ned, then May. They all either figured it out or caught me in a partial costume. I wanted it to be spe–” He cuts himself off by pressing his forehead into the table. His next words are muffled by the wooden surface. “And then you figured me out because of _ice cream._ You’re too smart for me.”

Peter feels her hand touch the back of his head for just a split second. It sends shivers down his spine but he doesn’t lift his head. Instead he rolls it sideways, leaving his cheek pressed to the table but his face clear. He looks at her from his weird angle.

“What were you hoping for? Sunday,” he asks, watching her face.

MJ is carefully posed. Her elbows rest on the table, her fingers laced together palm-down, and her chin resting on the knuckles. “You’re sure you want to know?”

Peter nods rapidly without changing his head’s position.

She takes a steadying breath. “I was hoping to meet the most caring, smart, and articulate person I’ve ever had the pleasure of befriending.”

“And instead you got me,” Peter adds wryly.

“Shut up,” is MJ’s retort along with a gentle shove to the shoulder. “For your information, you live up to the hype.”

Peter slowly sits up, resting his own elbows on the table and roughly mirroring MJ’s pose. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”

“Don’t make me take it back.”

“No undos,” he reminds her.

There’s a moment, maybe a second long, maybe an eternity, where the two of them do nothing but stare into each other’s eyes, daring the other to speak next. In the end, it’s MJ who breaks.

“I need to apologize to Ned.”

“U-wha?” Peter’s eyebrows pinch in confusion. This isn’t what he expected.

“He said he wanted us to be happy. I think it worked.”

“We don’t have to tell him. Not right away.”

“You’re right. We should make him squirm.”

Another eternal moment passes.

“Peter?”

“Hmm?”

“There was one more thing I had hoped for.”

He nods encouragingly.

“It’s silly and embarrassing but… I was hoping that Ben would help me get over my crush on you.”

Peter is pretty sure he’s consciously aware of the sensation of his brain physically melting. “You– wha– crush? He– me? But–”

She puts a hand on his forearm. “Don’t hurt yourself, Pete.” 

Now his heart is starting to go too. “Same,” he chokes out between bouts of delirium, confusion, and palpitations.

She pulls her hand back, placing it on her chest. “What?”

“Not, no I wasn’t–” He takes a deep breath, trying to regain his senses. “I had a crush– _have_ a crush on you. And I had one on Louise too. You were first but you were also both of them so I have no idea what that means. I double like you??” 

Peter pauses, mid shrug. His eyebrows are uneven, his eyes are wide, and he looks like he’s about to bolt out of the door. MJ can’t help herself; she laughs, loudly, right in his face. It only lasts a few seconds before her embarrassment overrides the humor of his expression and she schools herself into a more respectable guise. Even still, wetness swells in her eyes from the exertion.

“Holy shit, Peter. I don’t know why I even tried getting over you.” She wipes at the laughing tears. Once she’s sure she isn’t going to burst into giggles again, she reaches out, taking his hands. “Do you wanna go out? For real? If I don’t ask now, I don’t know when I would be brave enough to again.”

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah, that’s a great idea. I’d love that.” He nods excitedly, nearly bouncing in his seat. “But we’re still not telling Ned.”

“Nope!” MJ smiles a devious grin that feels like an arrow in Peter’s heart. “He’s going to suffer for successfully getting us together.” 

Peter squeezes her hands and does the only other thing he can. He grins back.

**Author's Note:**

> So? Whacha think!? Please leave a comment if this made you feel feelings <3 I hope I nailed the pacing and characterization. This story was a big ole practice run for me as I gear up to start my rewrite of IWaIA. MJ deserves it, y'all.


End file.
